A Series of Almosts
by maniiacal
Summary: A series of Delena moments, placed somewhere in Season 3, in which they fall into a series of almosts that they just can't seem to escape.


"Damon, just go home. I can wait by myself. Honestly."

"I'm not going _anywhere_." The vampire begins, leaning down to join her on the seat by the cracked road. He pays a glance towards the sky, powdered with stars, before he continues. "Besides, you don't exactly have the best _track record_ when you're left alone."

"Oh come on. This week's _bad guys_ have been defeated. — I can handle myself." Elena nudges him ever so-slightly, her petite shoulder lightly prodding against with his toned one. Whilst the words escape her lips cheerily, the look of doubt on her features is undeniable.

"Look, I'm not going to —."

Damon's words are disrupted by the impetuous ringtone that fills the air, causing Elena to flinch and Damon to roll his eyes. The name "Barbie" pops up rather obnoxiously on his phone and he brings it to his ear, speaking up.

"_Hello_?"

Elena observes him, turning just slightly to see if there's anything she can make out from his expressions. When he realises what it is she's doing he raises his eyebrows suggestively, triggering an eye-roll of her own.

"Well, _that's_ convenient." The words roll from his lips dryly and she refrains from smiling.

"I _could_ do that."

Elena shivers in her spot on the park bench, raising her eyebrows.

"Well?" She whispers.

"Got it. — Bye bye now."

"So?"

He takes his time to get it out, exhaling rather slowly before he goes on. "She's not coming. Something about her car and Tyler and explosions."

Her eyes widen and she grabs his arm. "_What_?"

"Kidding."

A chuckle tumbles from her lips and Elena, rather swiftly, hits him, inwardly groaning at the fact that it probably didn't even hurt in the slightest.

"You think you're so funny."

Soon enough, she's on her feet and walking away from him — or, at least, attempting to.

(It's not working very well.)

"Oh _come on_, Elena. If we have to walk home together, at least be civil with him."

Damon moves up to a slow jog to catch up with her and, when he does, he stays at her pace, nudging her shoulder in the same way in she had done just minutes ago. Elena, at the most, attempts to to ignore him but he's Damon & she's Elena and that never really does work out in her favour. Gradually, her gaze meets his and a smile is exchanged between the two of them; she wants to turn away, she really does, but there's something about his (dare she think it) charm that's so contagious.

Before long, the wind picks up, breaking them out of their reverie and triggering a shiver from her. Elena struggles to warm herself up — the only things she has are her frigid fingers, and they're cold enough as it is. Eventually, giving up is the only option and she settles for being cold, arms moving to rest at her sides.

(She doesn't even realise Damon is taking his jacket off for her until the warmth of it is on her shoulders.)

Swiftly, her gaze jumps to him and, after meeting his eyes, she opens her mouth to protest but he smoothly interjects.

"Elena, you're _cold_. Just wear the jacket."

It's not as if he has to tell her twice — after all, she's freezing and he doesn't exactly need it, right? No protests escape her lips then and she continues to amble along, slipping her arms into those of the jacket's. It smells delightfully of him and, selfishly, she allows his scent and his warmth to engulf her.

(A smile begins to tug at her lips.)

(He notices.)

"We're almost at your house. You can go and wrap yourself up in your duvet. And — I could join you, if you like."

He does "that eye thing", provoking a short scoff.

"How gentlemanly of you to offer, Damon. But I think it's a no from me."

Glancing away, the slightest hint of a smile pulls at his lips. And she doesn't notice it until his gaze is cast downwards and he finds something terribly interesting in the ground (or so it would seem).

"Okay, what?"

_Now_ she's grabbed Damon's attention and he captures a glimpse of her inquisitive gaze before returning his eyes towards the ground once more.

"Why Elena, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. Damon."

"Elena."

She pauses in her steps and turns to him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes searching for something — anything — to give her a hint of what's been running through his mind. She comes up with nothing and, by the time he turns to look at her, she's at a complete loss for words.

"You can stop looking at me with your puppy dog eyes. There's nothing wrong. Look, you're home. Just go to bed. Rest. You need it. You've had a rough week."

Petite arms reach up to remove the leather jacket from her body but his own, distractingly muscular, arms stop her and she glances up, confusion etching a path for itself onto her features.

"Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow."

Their world has been saved for the week, they've beaten the bad guys and ensured the safety of the town (for now). And he's still betting on a tomorrow that includes the two of them. She doesn't protest.

_Okay_, she protests a _little bit._

"Damon, I'm barely five steps away from the porch."

"Keep it on. It looks good on you." A wink follows his words and she shakes her head at him, nudging him for the last time (she hopes) tonight.

"Of course _you_ would say that."

And suddenly an entirely different ambience invades the air around them and she feels drunk, but not — and she's fairly certain that doesn't make much sense at all.

"Hey. I mean it."

And he leans forward close enough to her face for any passer-by to think something is going on. She doesn't care. Is that bad? Probably. Elena is taken aback for a moment (or two) at the fact that he's not making any advances. His face, at this point in time, is a pure representation of sincerity and it goes without saying that she's entirely taken off guard.

She gracefully moves away from him, feeling _dizzy_ from even being close to him and speaks up.

"Goodnight, Damon."

The smile that resides on his lips is calm; peaceful?

She wants to sleep now.

He lets her.

"Goodnight, Elena."

After observing her for a few last moments as she wanders up the porch steps, he sets off for his own home. He's gone when Elena turns around and a few choice words die on her lips, buried in the metaphorical graveyard that is her mouth.


End file.
